A Devilish Kind of Style
by DarkAkatsuk1
Summary: Being marooned away from home on a distant world is not an unfamiliar moment for Dante. Being marooned on a distant world in a Human World that is not HIS Human World, on the other hand… well, at least the weapons are pretty stylish.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Devil May Cry nor do I own RWBY. Credit for the cover pic goes to Tin Nijigen. I'm not sure if I'm imagining it but these days, whenever I hear about Rooster Teeth, it sounds like they got themselves in some deep shit. I may just be looking at this with rose-tinted glasses though, so anyone feel like breaking those glasses for me?

* * *

Another One?

* * *

In a shady backstreet of Vacuo's most lawless region, it was said that one would find only the most tenacious of people.

The law was to the strong.

Those who lived were survivors.

Those who failed… well, the desert billowing with sandstorms existed for more reasons than one could imagine.

And it was in this region that a certain hunter in red stirred awake with a migraine from an endless night of booze, blackjack, and booty. And by booty, he meant money. Or was it? He could also mean getting laid. It could mean anything at this point. The migraine was a real bitch to handle. He would not have had to wake up either, if the wall of the house he had been sleeping by caved in and landed on him. There was also his motorcycle, Cavaliere, which was not in his house a moment ago, appearing trashed as though someone had thrown it into the house, but that was not the important bit.

"Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, what is it this time?" The man groaned underneath the rubble.

What WAS important was that someone decided they had to try and total Cavaliere, all while waking him up with a hangover at the same time. And that just won't do.

"Your time is up, fuckwit! I'M the boss of this place, and I will not have anyone disrespecting MY authority!"

He dared to open his eyes to the blistering light of the sun that now occupied the majority of his room. If it were up to him, he would go and blow up the sun. But that was not nice at all. People relied on that thing to live. The thought that he was being threatened did not even faze him.

"Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not buying. G'night." He tried to tuck himself back in. The sound of guns cocking made him realize that no, he was not going back to sleep. That left him irritable and a tad bit murderous.

"Don't think you can get away from this! You think you can get away with cheating us out of our Lien?! You rigged that game! I know it!"

No. He really did not. He could safely say that he did not cheat. They just had crappy hands and did not know when to fold in blackjack. In fact, they sucked so much that his bad luck managed to capsize itself and become good luck for that particular night. It was not his fault they decided to gamble away all their money. It was in his humble opinion that anyone living in this shithole – or immigrated to this shithole – were either suicidal or moronic. Or both. Has the idea of maybe staying in school ever crossed anyone's mind before? Some of those brats don't even look like they scrape past their teen years! And what happened to things like common decency and manners? Respect for the elders and all that? Was everyone around just a muscle-headed idiot pumped full of aggression?

If there was anything good about Vacuo, it would be that they at least have a sense of humor. Calling sand the 'local spice', since it always seemed to make it into people's food? Classic.

…Right. Maybe it was time to move on and find another place to lay low. He tried to recall how to talk again. First, a polite greeting. Next, give a name. Then, if it was an option, mention a relevant personal link. Finally, manage expectations.

Without a word, he tossed the blanket – and the rubble on top of it – covering him up and rolled off his bed, kicking it towards the gang. Within seconds, the bed was decimated by a rally of bullets. Within that infinitesimal moment of time, he had grabbed two familiar handguns, one black and one white, that were flying in the air and spun them rapidly.

As the dust settled and the last of bullet cartridges tinkled away, the gang that had tried to ambush one man were shocked that their quarry did not die. In fact, he did not have a single touch of harm on him at all.

A tall man who was supposed to be middle aged stood with poise, complete with a flamboyant pose. Despite his age, his naked upper body betrayed any notions that he was aging, appearing battle-scarred and purposed for fighting the long fight. White hair ruled his head and stubble littered his face, giving him a grungy, washed-out appearance that gave off a roguish charm.

"Time to go to work, boys."

Ebony and Ivory, his long trusted companions in the forms of modified black and white M1911's, spun in his fingers, having deflected all bullets that had flew his way. Behind him was an immaculate contour of the pose he was striking, created by the hunter deflecting the hail of bullets exactly where he wanted them. It was an artwork of the highest order created with the most expensive material, all of which was freely given to him. Soon, the twin handguns settled on the ragtag group that had finished their barrage.

He spoke out to the stunned crowd with the cockiest smirk that Remnant had ever known,

"Hello. My name is Dante. You destroyed my wall, tried to total my motorcycle, and woke me up with a hangover that will last me for a long while. Prepare to die."

Nailed it. Morrison and Inigo Montoya would have been proud of his vernacular.

"You son of a bitch!" The guy at the front, who was clearly compensating for something with that volume, screamed. He was all bark and no bite. "You think you're hot shit?! Get 'im, boys!"

Discarding their spent firearms, the gang all switched to their melee weapons and charged at him. Some of them even had mechashifting weapons. It was as though they did not even remember that he just used their entire stock of ammunition they liberally donated to him to create a piece of fine art. Then again, he did not expect them to have the accumulated IQ of a vegetable, to begin with.

His smile became fierce, lit with delight.

Dante had learned much from this world. Aura and Semblances were one of the main weapons the people of this world use. Dante had to separate the ones who used Aura from the ones who did not. That way, he could have more fun with the ones who could take more. Who would have thought emptying an entire magazine into a person without them dying was fun? Thus, one majestic jump into the air, and he was raining bullets faster than an anti-vax killing future generations. The ones that had flickers of color rising from their body were his targets. The others fell pretty quickly. People tended to do that when they get hit by .45 ACP rounds. They would live; he only hit their limbs or shoulders or stuff.

He landed on one's head and balanced on him like a gymnast. Everyone around him all clobbered at the guy's head, causing Dante to laugh as he fell and began using the guy as a weapon, swinging the poor sap like a sack of soda cans by his legs at anyone within his reach. Soon enough, he threw the guy in his hands high into the air. It was not a light throw either. The guy was screaming as he learned how to fly.

Ivory was raised to block a blade and Ebony in seconds shot the blade out of the opponent's hand. Both bashed against his skull, cracking his Aura, and Dante flew up to dropkick him, while also shooting at another behind him. Landing on his stomach, he contorted up and avoided attacks to his limbs, flipped and shot. Then he started breakdancing, shooting his guns while he was crossing between flaring and airflaring. He landed on his feet and spun on his heels and ended it with another immaculate pose, which coincidentally dodged all of the weapons that stabbed and slashed his way. The entire scene would have made for a nice stock photo if anyone were to visit Vacuo.

"Aww yeah. That's gonna last me a while." He commented as the others were trapped between shock and awe. The whole routine would have been a lot better if he had put on his Faust hat, too. Shame he forgot to do it. He would have to do that later on.

With that, he gave a loud whistle and held out a hand. One of the thugs was unfortunately standing in front of where his arm was outstretched and subsequently got struck and strangled slightly by a flying red coat and hat from behind. The hat was caught and thrown straight into the air. The coat was flung around circularly by Dante, arms slipping into the sleeves seamlessly, and secured right as the hat perched itself on his head. Once it did, a scarf made of luminescent red formed and wrapped itself around his neck.

Then against all odds… Dante started dancing. It was an absolutely normal routine for him. As for the others, they were both confused and insulted that he was dancing, thrusting his hips, moonwalking, kicking at nothing, and otherwise mocking them. But that stopped when he took the hat off and kicked it. The hat transformed into a red saucer that sliced through them. It returned and Dante snapped his fingers to the beat of a song they did not know, twirled his hands and began _shooting_ from them. His hands were shooting red orbs at them. They dispersed, screaming in confusion at the violation of logic in front of them.

And to put salt on their wounds, back in the ruined base, the motorcycle that was assumed trashed _roared_. It righted itself up and sped away and towards the crowd of retreating targets that were so eager to get shredded by its iron sawblades of a pair of wheels. Once within distance, it jumped up and split into a pair of buzzsaws that was delightfully rotating.

In case no one had noticed yet, Cavaliere was essentially a motorcycle with chainsaw wheels.

If the saps had not learned anything when it came to Dante before, they were learning now. And a bit too late. Loud noises tended to make people remember how to think, it seemed. Especially if said loud noises came from a chainsaw, or in this case, a pair of chainsaws. It helped that getting hacked slowly, bit by bit, by multiple spinning blades was not a good way to die.

"He can shoot out of his hands AND has a chainsaw motorcycle!?"

"Oh shit! He has a chainsaw!?"

"He's got TWO chainsaws! Fuck this shit, I'm out!"

Cavaliere howled yet again. Dante slammed one of its wheels down, and it took him to town. And everywhere else. And through a lot of people. The other wheel acted like counterbalance, revving away and letting him feel like Leatherface on a field trip through a group of gunless Texans. Thankfully, most of them were already running away, so that meant there was little chance of anyone kicking the bucket.

The two buzzsaws came together and transformed back into a motorcycle. The Devil Arm revved its demonized engines and like that, Dante was off and away, leaving behind a mess of bodies that were full of screams, which mostly consisted of whimpering, great deal of complaining, and tales of sprained deltoids. Just the way he liked it. Oh yeah, and he nicked all of their money – or what was left of it – as well. He had to be compensated for his time, somehow.

And so, his fun came to an end for today. It's just another day at work… except this time, in a strange world with a shattered moon.

* * *

**A/N: Well, it was going to happen sooner or later.**

**Introducing, a DMC x RWBY crossover fic. Viewer discretion is NOT advised. Obviously. A short chapter for this one, mostly because I honestly don't know where to start the story. I can write either before or after the Fall of Beacon, or even way before RWBY canon. Basically, I can either play it safe and stick to RWBY canon, or I can diverge and create a timeline for RWBY. Decisions, decisions.  
**

**Either way, look forward to it.**

**-DarkAkatsuk1, starting a new story**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Devil May Cry nor do I own RWBY. It saddens me that in canon, Dante sold some of his Devil Arms.

**A/N: Right! I have a plan for this story… actually, it's only part of a plan. Like, 23% of a plan. But that's still a plan, right?! **

* * *

Keep It Rollin'

* * *

One confused fixing of glasses later, and the interviewer stared down at the paperwork she had been presented with. Among many things, Vale prided itself for its regard for high standards – but not so much that it became suffocating. It did not matter what occupation it was, or even if it was under the table, one was always expected to fulfill the expectations that came with their respective duties.

And this case was… unique, to say the least.

"Mr. Dante Redgrave…" She reiterated from the paperwork she had been presented.

"Dante is fine."

"Then Mr. Dante…" The interviewer conceded, brushing a stray bang to the side. "Tell me more about yourself. What qualifications do you have that you believe would benefit not just us, but yourself?"

"I have a lot of experience in cleaning up after others." He looked up wistfully, seemingly reminiscing about a past ordeal. "Or making sure no one makes a mess in the first place. It helps that I can be very persuasive when it matters."

"…Right." She nodded. There was no lie in his tone, but he was not giving her anything concrete. Thus, she pushed. The position in question was long in need of filling.

"Our record here states that there has been no mention of one Dante Redgrave until three months ago. No birth certificate, no identity papers, no scroll. Earliest activities indicate you had been active in Vacuo as a freelancer of sorts – as observed by Shade Academy – that ranged from courier duties to huntsmen activities. Do you have any explanations that may shed some light as to why you were in Vacuo at the time?" She managed to ask without sounding interrogative or accusatory, despite the inference.

"How I got to Vacuo is still a mystery. All I remember was a lot of black and a lot of blood." He frowned, shook his head and smirked. It seemed as if he did not want to confront a personal issue at the moment. "Didn't have money when I woke up, so I had to find a way to make some kind of living. Soon enough, it came to me that while fun, Vacuo just didn't do it for me, so I returned to Vale. As for why I don't have any records…" He looked somewhat inconvenienced, "Vale probably expunged info that they believed were embarrassing. I checked earlier. I don't know what else to say except that I don't have any public records."

The interviewer frowned, not because she did not believe him but because she knew that the Council of Vale had _and_ would do something like that. It was an embarrassing and disgraceful act, in her honest opinion but it was also a controversial topic. Villages and towns outside the Kingdoms came and went like trends, only known momentarily and forgotten the next week. If public records were to show the exact number of towns that had been lost to the Grimm, there was no telling how much negativity could build up.

It was a sad truth that she did not like nor want to accept, but that was how it was. The higher-ups – politicians, government officials, and even retired Huntsmen – unanimously agree that the truth would only hurt the public. To satisfy skeptics, tiny increments but profound examples were only ever released. Mountain Glenn was such an example, and it had only been by virtue of vocal survivors that records of it existed, plus the fact that it had been a joint operation between Vale and Atlas to expand the number of official Kingdoms on Remnant. No doubt that latter Kingdom had released news of the failure, albeit in a way that made it sound like it was mostly logistical.

In the end, she could only nod at the response given and move on with her questions.

"And your scroll?" Even if records of Mr. Dante were destroyed, the fact remained that he did not have a Scroll, which was extremely peculiar. Scrolls served as a mobile phone, game controller, identification card, passport, Aura monitor, and all of the basic necessities an individual could carry on their person.

"Lost it during my trip here from Vacuo. Someone over there has one more scroll on them, and it's not theirs," Mr. Dante hedged around. "Though if I have to be honest, I still don't know how to use the thing."

"And why is that?"

He shrugged. "Never had to use one. I am a fan of the classics, though."

That sounded plausible. She had heard of villages that lived without relying on the Cross Continental Transmit System, or CCTS as it was referred to these days, and used rudimentary technology such as radio transmitting and landline communication instead. Most did not last long, but the few that did tend to eventually adopt the new and improved CCTS. Mr. Dante was likely from the former.

"Good, good. Last question, Mr. Dante. How would you describe the conditions or course of events that led you to ask for a job here at Beacon Academy?"

Mr. Dante leaned back to consider his words.

"…My home has a word that describes my way of life, the purposes and ordeals set upon me by my forefathers, and the ideals I strive to realize within my lifetime."

The red-clad man looked at her with powerful intent.

She knew this intent.

There was no mistaking it. She had seen it sparingly, but each time they left a great impression on her. The first time she had seen it, it was during her orientation into Beacon, and it had been from the stalwart back of the Headmaster himself. The second time was just recently from a first-year student with silver eyes.

She felt herself gulp unconsciously and leaned forward in anticipation of his reply.

"They call me… _homeless_."

There was a pregnant silence.

* * *

He got the job.

How he got it, he still did not know. He had not even tried to be professional about it, having resigned himself to a failure. Granted, it was a janitorial position, but he had expected them to be a bit more strict about the vetting procedure. Ah well. He was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He needed money to open up a business, and odd jobs did not pay enough in Vale.

Dante walked around the campus of his new workplace for a while, eventually settled himself on a bench, and placed his Faust hat on top of his face to catch some z's in the dark. Cavaliere was parked conveniently beside him. At last, the days of him surviving off of frozen pizza bagels and strawberry sundae crunch bars could come to an end. He could finally get his hands on the real stuff; real pizza and real strawberry sundaes. And some good liquor, for that matter. No more cheap booze, no sirree.

How did he get here, one could ask? Dante would not even know where to start.

He had gotten back home after a day of work (an extremely massive understatement), back to his usual shift of lazing around, reading magazines, slowly getting over his depression, and basically being a glorified courier for the most part. And demon-slaying, but eh. That bit was part of the job description. Then he remembered that his electricity had gone out due to not paying his bills, and he was left to mull in the dark for… a pretty long time, actually. He had also not flushed the toilet for a while, so that was a doozy to deal with.

Then his savior came in the form of a dapper black man. Strange, really. He remembered his primary information broker being more… blond.

Anyways. Morrison came in with a kid named V, who told him that a tree came and grew in the middle of Red Grave City. That was new. Then he said some forbidden words, leading him to rally Trish and Lady to go investigate. They, including yours truly, got their asses handed to them _hard_, he had to admit. Seriously, it was his first time being in a coma for a month. Then when he woke up, he nearly got another sword shoved through him. That was a breath of relief, considering his history of getting penetrated by long, hard shafts. Shame though, since he had to shove his own sword through himself a few hours later.

So anyway, a lot of stuff happened. A lot of revelations occurred. Many preconceived notions were shattered. Each of them was a lot of fun to digest. And all of it led to him reuniting with his brother, followed by a series of events that somehow led to him being here in the middle of some other world that was not his.

Evidently, the Demon World was not the only other realm besides the Human World, or Earth as he and everyone else liked to call it.

Still, this was not his world nor was it his business to interfere, so he had decided to lay low for the moment. Well, lay low as much as he could, anyway. If bad stuff happened around him, he'd deal with it accordingly. He had learned a long time ago that international business was a lot of stress to deal with. Best to keep things local. He had to find a way home, slap Vergil, make sure his debt was still clear and gorge himself with pizza, slap Vergil, avoid Patty and her grilling him for not attending her birthday party, slap Vergil, force Vergil to go and say his prayers to their mom at her grave, slap Vergil, and slap Vergil. And did he mention slap Vergil? Because that was really high up on his to-do list if that had not been obvious enough.

As for Vergil himself… well, the less said about him, the better. He ignored the hypocritical humor in that statement. If he was going to see his dearest big brother anytime again, it would be too soon, not since they got themselves stuck in the Demon World and somehow got separated. How they got separated was a mystery in itself, since they were stuck together harder than a Kit Kat bar in an unopened wrapper. That was to say, not that hard since they were somehow separated after _something_ or _someone_ decided to ruin their brotherly bonding time via demon-slaying. He would have to get back to that later.

Suffice to say, he stopped caring about the whole 'blending in' aspect of reality jumping after a few months. Something something, this world had four continents or kingdoms or whatever, there were these guys running around with animal ears or parts, everyone hated each other because of reasons… oh, and there were gods too. They could make a religion out of all of this. That last bit needed investigating since reality-warping was now apparently a thing. Or rather, it had always been a thing. Case in point, Mundus.

"_Haaah… and it's not even Tuesday,"_ Dante somberly noted, leaning further back on the bench he was sitting on. A group of students – Huntsmen-in-training, he was told about – passed by, talking animatedly about a mission they had just returned from and arguing about the number of Grimm they killed and all that jazz. Their voices eventually died down as something apparently caught their attention.

Right. There was something he had forgotten. Something that was supposed to be important, yet he could not find it to be anything noteworthy since it was apparently an everyday thing.

The "demons" of this world. Well, calling them "demons" was stretching it way too much, since they were so far from any actual demons he knew about. Animals were obviously a thing, but then there were also these black things that tried to fit in with the cool animal kids but failed and became edgy emo tryhards that hate everything around them. They even have a pretentious name to go with it: Grimm. They try to kill humans and people because apparently, they have nothing better to do with their lives, and it was up to people called Huntsmen and Huntresses to ice the bastards before they escalated things.

And it so happened that the place he applied for was the prestigious Beacon Academy. Remember that tidbit about him not getting into the criminal underworld? He figured that official resources would be a solid start this time around. If not, then he could always go clear the rust off of his mercenary life.

Which was weird, since Dante considered himself a Hunter of sorts. Would that make him one of these Huntsmen guys? He didn't bother finding out if they handed out certificates for it, but he was 93% sure that they did. So that left him with getting a job that barely brushed close to a Huntsman; a janitor in a school full of Huntsman. That was pretty close, right?

He sorely wished it was Tuesday now. Why couldn't it be a Tuesday? Those days, he could handle, mostly because he would be too drunk to care.

"You're gonna have to do a lot more before you can start riding that monster," he commented distantly, aware that there were some brats trying to start up Cavaliere without his consent. Probably the same students that had just returned from their mission. One of them was polite enough to sound embarrassed, and the others were busy trying to figure out how the Devil Arm worked. One of them, from the sound of it, was absolutely _gushing_ at it.

"W-what is this?" One of them was whispering… _purring_ at the motorbike as he heard her caress the demon vehicle. "Interlocking mechanisms within the body that keeps it structurally sound when driving? Wheels that can shift into buzzsaws?! And the motif… I've never seen such a design like this!" He felt the wind blow against him, presumably the student who was quite accurate with the description. "Who designed this?! Did you make it yourself?! I need to know! Please! For the sake of my research, and possibly my graduation thesis!"

"Thesis? We're barely into the school year, Summer," another one, a male, noted.

"And the thesis thing is due in four years. We have so many other things to do besides a boring paper," another male voice quipped in.

"Always best to be prepared. Plus, it's my first time seeing a motorcycle like this… this!"

"I'm just all kinds of special, then," Dante reached up to scratch his neck. "And for the record, yes. I had a hand in making it. The materials came to me on a platter, and I did all of the work assembling it together."

If stripping Trish, his blonde partner-in-crime, naked when she was under mind control counted as having a hand in making it, then yeah, he was going to milk that for all that it was worth. No one could say that he was a liar.

"That is sooo cool." The girl's voice was almost reverent. "What material did you use? How do the parts work inside the wheels? What type of Dust are you using to make this baby function cohesively?" She machine-gunned questions at him that he did not know how to answer.

"That-" He paused to give dramatic effect, "-is a trade secret. A man's gotta have a few of those to stay in business, girly."

"Aww, come on!"

"And who are you supposed to be?" A fourth voice asked in a cranky tone.

"I have a white beard (in the making), a red suit, a nifty hat, and a sweet ride. Obviously, I'm Santa Claus," Dante snarked at the four kids.

There was a pause.

"Who's Santa Claus?" The first girl asked curiously.

Dante lifted his hat to look at the four kids that had decided to invade his personal space. White cloak, blond kid, Nevermore, and ratty clothes. He committed the descriptions to memory.

"None of you know who Santa Claus is." To his surprise and dismay, all of them shook their head blankly. "Wow. Just, wow. Um. I don't know how to break it to you guys, but none of your parents loved you."

"We know," the latter two replied easily, which had him concerned. They seemed to be siblings, what with the black hair and red eyes. The other two were indignant at the insult to their parents and made it clear by scowling at him.

"Hey, don't worry. You have all the time in the world to know who Santa Claus is. As for your question, girly," Dante brushed himself. 'Girly' bristled at being called that. "You are looking at the newly minted janitor of Beacon Academy. Cleaning up after other peoples' messes is my job and duty, especially the up and coming generations' asses when reality bites them hard and fast. Can't complain about it when I ain't got a roof over my head." He managed to introduce himself and insult the Huntsmen-in-training at the same time.

"Whaat? A janitor? You don't look like one," White Cloak stared longingly back at Cavaliere. It was clear she did not believe him at all.

"Reality is often disappointing. So, who am I talking to here?"

White Cloak took the stage. "Up and coming badass first-years in the making, Team Stark! It's spelled STRQ, by the way. Dunno how that managed to pass through, but Ozpin's got his eyes on us to make sure we do it justice." She puffed up proudly, silver eyes sparkling under her cloak. "And you're looking at the leader, Summer Rose."

"Tch." 'Girly' clicked her tongue irritably and turned her head.

"Still mad you didn't get picked for leader, Raven? Don't worry about it too much. Not like you're not the strongest anymore. Oh, wait. Tai dragged you out of the bog you got yourself stuck in." Ratty Clothes smiled smugly at the sky as though it had affirmed all of his beliefs.

"I will murder you, Qrow!"

"You can try, bitch!"

Dante studied the four with amusement. "I may not be a teacher or anything, but don't you brats have classes or something?"

"Oh crap!" Blond Kid, which by process of elimination he presumed to be Tai, raised his hands to his head as if he had remembered something. "Summer! That essay we had for Peach's class! Do we have the ten sources for it yet?!"

"W-what?! I thought that Raven got it for us! You did, didn't you?!" Girly, now named Raven, stared blankly at her leader. The silence was telling. "GAAAAH! That's it, change of plan! Team STRQ, assemble! We have an essay to write before Tuesday comes! We'll pull an all-nighter if we have to!"

"I signed up to fight some bad guys. Instead, I'm stuck here being a pencil pusher," Ratty Clothes, Qrow sighed in lamentation. Dante inwardly agreed with him.

"Um! We'll see each other again, Mr. Santa Claus! So please let me study your motorbike next time!" Summer called out to him.

"I'm not-" Before he could correct her, they were gone. "…That's gonna be my name from now on, huh?"

He leaned back on the bench again. That had been an interesting encounter.

Right. What to do now.

He could go into the city to embezzle some quick cash from the local criminal underworld now. He was already pretty well-known back home, but the fun aspect of it went away when "hands-off" orders were made and he was practically an untouchable.

…He had an idea. It was a horrible idea, but he had one. Maybe he could brush the rust off of his mercenary past and balance that with his legit job, thus speeding up the process of building a business. Then once he had a firm foundation, he could focus on searching for a way home or rather, searching for whatever was responsible for sending here in the first place. It would be like the old days of stealing guns from people, taking them apart, and selling the parts to a fence except this time, he had a path to follow.

The worst thing that could happen if he went down this route was he gets audited by the IRS-equivalent of this world. No biggie. None at all. He just needed to pay his taxes properly.

Dante got up and boarded Cavaliere… then remembered he was on campus and vehicles were technically not allowed to be revved on campus. Plus, the motorbike had never exactly been child-friendly. It would soon develop a semi-sentient mind like Cerberus once did, bless its soul. His arsenals, his Devil Arms would all develop sentience soon enough.

**Are You Forgetting About Me?**

A deep and guttural voice, heavy and profound, sounding of earth and stone grinding against each other whilst lava tided against sediments, resonated in his head.

Right. And Balrog. He had forgotten about the fire demon. Well, not exactly forget but more along the lines of not thinking about it. Not an easy task to do when it could just waltz into his head to talk to him. At least it was not as annoying as those two talking swords.

He smirked as he wheeled the motorbike out of the campus. Things were starting to look up to him.

* * *

**A/N: As I said, 23% of a plan.**

**EDIT 1: For grammar error.  
**

**EDIT 2: A tiny retcon or two. Guess what they are now?**

**-DarkAkatsuk1**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Devil May Cry nor do I own RWBY.

**A/N: I changed a detail in the last chapter to fit what I'm working towards.**

* * *

No, Really Now?

* * *

There was an explosion and a siren blared.

"ATTACK! WE'RE UNDER ATTAC-" The voice was silenced with a flying door that smashed right on top of him. The door went right through and turned the guy into a groundhog impression, dazed and confused before collapsing.

"Fire!" There was a cacophony of firearm detonation, all pointed at the dust buildup that made its way into the emporium that served as the main hideout of this particular gang stationed in Vale. Dust bullet casings fell to a rhythm, clattering on and about the ground with their signature 'clinks' noises, as the entirety of the room emptied their cartridges at the lone intruder who dared to enter their territory.

Yet…

"Okay, seriously. It was kinda funny at first, but now it's getting annoying. I just want to see the boss in charge of this joint."

A redclad man spoke serenely through the storm, as if he did not register the countless number of firearms firing at him. He walked through the rain of Dust and lead like he was out for a walk in the woods. The way he dodged was unnatural; he was not even putting any effort into dodging. He could only be a veteran Huntsman or something more.

"Trust me when I say this. I don't need to drag a bunch of bodybags out of here, so it'd be nice if you dropped down on your knees and become my little helpers."

The gathered group did the contrary. Desperation caused them to try and reload their guns, draw out more mechashifting weapons, and bring out the bigger guns. Funny how desperation worked.

"Alright. Plan C, then."

The stranger snapped his fingers audibly. Any thoughts of what happened to "Plan B" were thrown out of the window when there was a resounding crash of rubble and concrete. A demonic motorcycle tore through the wall, its chainblade wheels screeching against the foundation of the building like a bad idea in action. It parked beside him and with it by his side, the redclad intruder began posing flamboyantly reminisce of a pop it had not been such a terrifying moment for the gang, they would have thought he was just some Mistrallian celebrity who got lost; Mistrallian, because such style displayed by the man could only be attributed to the continent where that kind of flamboyance was born.

"Boys and girls, I'd like you to meet your best friend for today. He really likes to cut people. Take care to get cut. And no, I did not misspeak." He struck another cocky pose and pointed at a random mook, "Your next line is, '_What can you possibly do with just a motorcycle?_'"

"What can you possibly do with just a motorcy- _**HUAH**__?!"_ Said mook said verbatim then gasped at what just happened.

The red man stroked the motorized hellion and in a deft move, mounted it as the chained wheels carved against the ground. Cement and dust picked up and flew in every direction, and then they both vanished. The motorcycle and the red man had somehow managed to fly into the air while they were distracted in trying to find them on the ground. In that time, the intruder had drawn out two large handguns, black and white like piano keys, and started blasting away while somehow standing on his motorbike like it was a skateboard.

'_That is NOT how a motorbike is supposed to be ridden!' _

All of them wanted to shout, but oxygen was low in supply and had to be reserved for screaming in fear.

That day, a subsection of the gang EZ Nightz was destroyed and rebranded under the Red Man, who would later come to be known as _Santa Claus_, a name truly feared and respected amongst the denizens of the criminal Underworld as the Don of the _North Pole_.

* * *

In the meantime, in contrast to the criminals' screams of pain and terror, Dante's own thoughts did not align whatsoever with the victims' behavior. In fact, he was a little miffed despite his boisterous exterior.

He had only wanted to open up a bank account so he could cash in his monthly paycheck. As it turned out, his pay was far more than what he had expected for a janitor that he could see himself easily living off of Beacon for the next couple of decades, provided that nothing catastrophic happened.

How did that lead to him busting yet _another_ criminal joint in the process, discounting the others he had blazed through?

As it turned out, when Dante became involved, it was very easy to break it down.

Let's backtrack a little.

…

(few days earlier…)

Janitorial duties did not bore him nor did it make him feel lazy. It was just that he never felt motivated to clean up after himself. Of course, when the mess piled up to the point that he could no longer ignore it, he would take care of it. The problem was that the way he did it was not exactly conventional.

For example, the common way of disposing trash was to put them into these black bags and leave them out so garbage disposal services could come and pick up them to throw them into who knew where. Some liked to recycle them. Some liked to burn them. Some liked to throw them into the ocean where it would inevitably form its own island of waste for people to marvel at their own stupidity.

For Dante, he liked to throw all of his trash on a rooftop and use Pandora – _when he still had it_ – to instantly turn them all into immaterial particles with its 666th form. Effing genius idea! Well, it was, until the city became uppity about it when they realized he could effectively put the local garbage disposal service out of business. Not only that, Trish, Lady, Morrison, and even Patty got on his case and lectured him about how he couldn't just take the easy way out all the time, with the former "confiscating" the Devil Arm.

He had stared at them in disbelief, Trish in particular.

What easy way? Had they forgotten that he _earned_ that Devil Arm after a quick one-two with that ice frog demon?! Was he just going to keep it around just so he could leave it in disuse? If anything, he was doing his part in being an economical role model. Heck, it was even _eco-friendly_! No carbon emissions, no nuclear fusion, no coal mining, no fossil fuel usage; just plain ol' casual disruption of the laws of thermodynamics via Devil Arms. It was the _perfect_ disposal system. But nooooo~, people HAD to complain anyways.

On a side note, he had a sneaking suspicion that Trish did not really care much for the whole "incident" and had only taken advantage of the chaos to "liberate" Pandora for herself. The smugness she had that day trumped any other smugness she could have been capable of in other circumstances.

Why did he even bother?

"What are you thinking about?"

A voice brought back to Earth… Remnant, he corrected himself. He coughed and rubbed his nose, turning to a blonde student. It was the same woman who interviewed him weeks prior.

"Nothing at all. Just something stupid that happened in the past," he replied in a rather amused voice, fixing the janitor's uniform he was wearing while on the job and by all that was sacred, he felt old wearing it. It made him look… well, there was another word for "unstylish" and "unfashionable" but he could not remember at the moment. Still, he could rock the clothes for being comfortable, at the very least.

"Oh? Do tell."

"Nah, I'm being serious. It's just something stupid between coworkers and colleagues. Well, _former_, anyway. It's actually been a while since I last saw them."

"Coworkers and colleagues…" the blonde girl repeated to herself, "I presume it's from your time in Vacuo?"

"Nah, long before that," Dante corrected her. "We were a pretty merry bunch; going around taking odd jobs here and there while some of them mooched off of me, and then I mooched off of them in return. Sadly, they mooched more off of me than I did them. I think if I look carefully, I might find that I'm still in debt to some of them."

"Sounds rough." He detected some measure of amusement at his plight.

"Hey. Just because I don't contribute to the school as much as the professors and the Head Boy and Girl do doesn't mean I don't have moments where I question my life decisions," Dante shot back.

She could only snort at his reply.

"And what life decisions did you make that led you here?"

She was prodding him for information about himself. Well, well, well, look who was trying to be sneaky.

Glynda Goodwitch, he recalled her name was. Blonde hair lightly shadowed her inquisitive green eyes, which were complemented by thin-rimmed glasses, and was neatly tied into a braid that hung on her shoulder. She appeared to be somewhere in her twenties and intended to have others _know_ that and make no mistake. Her outfit was a crossbreed between what was expected of a stern ojou-sama – as Patty would call her – and a late-night dominatrix who could be found in a dank night club downtown.

Best keep that last part unsaid.

At the moment, she was in her last year at school whilst working on an internship or two, carrying with her an impressive accolade of awards and prestige that would guarantee her instant fame if she so wished. This included, and was not limited to: Head Girl, Disciplinarian, Interviewer, student most likely to be upcoming valedictorian, and his personal favorite, "Boss Bitch". The latter was a title coined by her fellow students and evidently made her a rather fearsome person to contend against.

Instead of making her presence known to the Huntsmen limelight however, it appeared she had chosen to stay and become a teacher at Beacon Academy to usher forth new generations of Huntsmen and Huntresses. Some would call her decision a noble sentiment. Others would decry her as a coward for not wanting to be on the frontline.

Neither was wrong. Neither was correct. Like many people, she had her reasons and she was not obligated to share them with the public.

And just as she had given him her life story during his little orientation here in order to make him officially a custodian/janitor, it was only fair that he gave her his own, albeit it would have to be abridged to the point that it barely sounded believable. He was not sure how demons were perceived in this world and quite frankly, it sounded a lot more stressful to deal with.

"I come from a land far, far away," Dante decided to keep it vaguely truthful, "One day, a giant tree destroyed my home, and I was rescued from my untimely death by a boy who can be called my protégé. Of course, that came with its own cost. Not as severely as you'd think, though. I think I still got the mark from that bitchslap he gave me near the end of the debacle."

And Lord, it had hurt like a bitch. He felt his soul fly out of his body that day. It was not a feeling he was familiar with and it had left him slightly out of commission afterward, and no, getting his ass handed to him by Vergil in his Urizen form early on does not count.

"A giant tree." Glynda looked at him skeptically. "A giant tree destroyed your home."

"We live in a world where black things try to kill us every day. We use crystals as a power source and as a way to do a bunch of stuff we take for granted nowadays, and we use what is essentially soul power to defeat aforementioned black things. Do you really think a tree that eats people is so far from the truth?" Dante spun his bullshit tale with the proficiency of a seductive bard who placed all of his stats in charisma and luck.

Glynda had a ponderous expression as she tried to look for discrepancies. "I suppose…"

"But I have to say, you are being very forward about me telling you about myself. Did something catch your fancy? Is it my roguish looks?" Dante winked.

Glynda rolled her eyes at him. "I intend to apply for a position here once I graduate. It's only reasonable that I become close with the faculty members at Beacon to further my chances of getting in. Headmaster Ozpin may have assured me otherwise, but I'm not entirely convinced if that's the case."

"You wound me, Glynda," he placed a hand over his chest in mock hurt. He even made a theatrical voice to dramatize it. "You're only getting close to me to secure a better future for yourself? The travesty! I thought we had something special! How shameless can you be?"

"If being shameless means I can help others better themselves, by being involved in paperwork and teaching them how to not frolick about like a bunch of luddites, then _very_ shameless," Glynda played along with his jest, managing to keep her strict persona while she was at it.

"Hohoho, girl got bite."

Just as Glynda was about to respond, an explosion was heard and a crowd of student was seen running away from what seemed to be the source. "…That's right. I came here to ask you, Mr. Dante, do you know what's happening in the cafeteria that you did not feel any urge to report?"

"Ah… yeah, that? I thought that's a normal thing that happens around here."

"Normal," the blonde parroted in disbelief.

"Yeah. I mean, it's a _combat school._ Combat? School? Things like explosions and fights breaking out and all that stuff? Sounds like a pretty standard occurrence when you put the two words together."

"This is not Vacuo," Glynda sighed, understanding now why the commotion had not died yet. "You do realize this is going on your report?"

"Can't really fault kids for wanting to cause some mayhem. What's the worst they can do anyway?"

…

Dante stared at the mess that was once Beacon's cafeteria. Food was everywhere and none were spared from its properties. Not even the ceilings were exempt from this atrocity that was called wasted food. Even worse, food was still getting thrown everywhere by all students.

He saw a slice of pizza flying his way and in an instant show of acrobatics, he backflipped, somersaulted and caught the slice in his mouth before it could touch the ground. Just as he reveled in his victory, a whole pizza fell on his head toppings first, having been stuck on the ceiling for some time. _Sacrilege_. Someone must pay for this blasphemy against God's gift to mankind.

"To answer your question, Mr. Dante, very much so."

"Yeah yeah, I deserved that."

"It seems you now have an idea of what to expect when the students here are not restrained," Glynda intoned next to him. Peeking under his impromptu pizza hat, he stared blankly at the woman. She coughed at his stare and explained, "Beacon, for as long as I have been on its premises, has its share of rambunctious students with few methods to channel their eagerness and energy. Going on missions, slaying Grimm, and protecting the peace of Vale are apparently not enough, leading to situations like this."

Dante took the pizza on his head off, contemplating whether he should eat it or not. On one hand, it had been on the ceiling for who knew how long… but on the other hand, pizza was still pizza. Good or bad, it was still good in his eyes.

"So what you're saying is that these bunch of brats are gonna destroy stuff whether we like it or not."

"That is more or less correct. For future records though, please do not refer to the students as "brats". I am included in that category and I don't appreciate it."

Dante looked at the food fight. Then back to the Head Girl.

"…So basically, just wait until you graduate."

"Yes."

'_Alrighty then. Throw them to the wolves while you're at it, why don't you?'_ Dante thought with a measure of amusement. "So what do you do to stop this?"

In response, she drew out a riding crop from somewhere on her person and struck down. The resounding crack indicative of a shattered sound barrier stopped everyone in their track and turned their attention to the one responsible for said crack.

"Oh crap! It's the Boss Bitch! Run!" One of them said and like that, the students clambered over each other in a bid to make it out of the cafeteria. Glynda whipped her crop in one direction. All of the turned tables and chairs rocketed up and back into proper positions, sending some of the students flying and screaming in the air. She whipped the crop in another direction. The accumulated foods and drinks that were in places they were not supposed to be all piled into one goopy mess of a pile. Apparently, the trash cans were all indisposed. One final flick and the students responsible for instigating the food fight were stopped in their tracks and brought forth to her.

One very strong sigh and an aggressive fixing of glasses later, Glynda Goodwitch stared at one unrepentant Raven Branwen and a guilty Summer Rose. Trailing behind them, Qrow Branwen and Taiyang Xiao Long tried their best to not look like they were associated with the instigating culprits.

"Explain yourselves, Team STRQ. Why have you, once more, disrupted the cafeteria with another food fight?"

"Santa Claus? What are you doing here?" Miss Rose chose to answer with a question, her attention focused on the custodian rather than the disciplinarian. The others did not look enthused nor did they look hopeful that he would help them out. Dante had to remind himself that he once gave out that name. Glynda was now studying him, curious about the unfamiliar name. How did this world not know who Santa _bloody_ Claus was?

"I work here, you now?" He said with some measure of bemusement. The devil hunter pointed at a mop that was leaning against a nearby wall. "And you, lady, are about to get a taste of what I can dish out with a mop." He then pointed at the makeshift hat he had removed. "How dare you, by the way. I'll have to educate you on the blessing upon this world that is pizza. Don't think you can run away from this."

Summer could do nothing but chuckle nervously, suspended in midair by telekinesis.

"I wonder how long you can joke like that," the blonde student peeked at Dante with one eye. "This cafeteria is in dire need of cleaning as well. It's time to see what you can do now, _custodian_. How long do you reckon the remaining mess will be cleaned up?"

"Considering my history? A really long time, Glynda," The custodian of Beacon Academy rolled his shoulder at the leftover chaos before him. "Now that I've got this all to myself, I can just kick back and rela-"

* * *

"This is a stick-up! Everyone OUT and ON YOUR KNEES!"

Dante sighed, probably wondering why he deserved this. Okay fine, he did not read the fine print before signing the contract to get the job. It's not his fault that Morrison took that responsibility from him. It's also not his fault that Morrison was also a hell of a lot better at it.

Whatever the case, it meant he was not getting cash up front for his trouble, but with checks. And to get said cash, he needed a bank account. And seeing as getting an account opened for him by Beacon was not in the fine print, that meant he would have to go to Bells' Cargo (he had raised a brow at the bank name) to manually open one himself.

…He probably should not complain. Beacon paid well. And by well, he meant that he could live off of working in Beacon for the foreseeable decade without much trouble.

Was it so much to ask for a bank account _without_ interruption?

"Someone's getting too big for their boots," he instead commented, unfazed by the sudden event, and continued leisurely, ignoring the growing horror on the bank clerk's face, "Fine, sure. I'll take the deal. Now, let's say my account's been open for four years or so. How much would I have to pay after that?"

The door to this particular cubicle was pushed down and the two inside were put at gunpoint by four men in suits and red glasses. The clerk, who was now wishing he had worn brown pants today, was quick to surrender and raised his hands. Dante just stared dully as the employee continued to piss his pants.

"…No, seriously. What's the weekly or monthly maintenance fee for keeping an account open after the deal is done? This is my first time even having a bank account. I usually just get paid under the table or-" The demon hunter's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait a minute. Is this one of those shifty business tactics where I'm intentionally not in the know and you're gonna leech a bunch of Lien off me every now and then? Cuz that isn't nice at all."

His nonchalance at the sudden turn of event clearly pissed off one of them, who decided to approach and place his handgun point-blank at Dante's head.

"Hey! You fuckin' deaf!? OUT and ON YOUR KNEES!"

The hunter responded by thrusting two fingers straight up into the offender's nose, lifting him high into the air, and throwing him at the other three. The force behind the throw launched them out through the glass window, shattering it to pieces and alerting the other robbers of a resistance.

"I'm gonna need a lot of hand sanitizer for the number of noses I'm gonna tear a new hole in."

…

"_-multiple gunshots heard within Bells' Cargo this afternoon. The initial police team reporting back has given the official statement that-"_

Team STRQ's television broadcasted as the leader surfed through the channels and paused abruptly on.

Qrow and Raven were busy doing their own things that were totally related to homework while Summer and Taiyang stared at the current newscast because apparently, this constituted an interesting news story when compared to the ever-encroaching Grimm horde that threatened the peace of the Four Kingdoms. No need to talk about the latter, that's boring. Plus, it would hurt ratings.

"It was close by, too," Taiyang commented, frowning at how the reporter was excited to give the story.

"Why _don't_ we go out to hunt criminals, anyways? I thought the whole schtick about being Huntsmen besides killing Grimm is, you know, protecting the peace," Qrow remarked, marveling slightly at the doodle he had been working on. "And since the police haven't shown themselves good enough to stop a robbery, of all things, shouldn't there be a story about that instead?"

Raven could care less about incompetent higher-ups and continued copying her leader's "Stealth & Security" homework. Summer noticed this and rushed to save her precious grade from the vile hands of plagiarism.

"_Reports and key witnesses state that the felons responsible for the gunshots were subdued and apprehended by a man in a red coat with white hair. We now go live to the scene of the crime-"_

"Red coat? White hair?" Summer repeated and made a confused noise, her scuffle with Raven forgotten as she claimed her victory. "What's Santa Claus doing on TV?"

"He set up a protection racket and those mooks tread on him?" Raven answered with a question, her curiosity about the custodian deciding to make its appearance. The older twin had a nagging suspicion that their resident janitor was hiding more than he appeared to be, just like she and her brother were hiding some things from their other teammates.

"You're making him sound like one of- a criminal," her brother had to chip in, nearly letting slip their allegiance. "Why would a criminal go to work at Beacon? That's like begging for attention to come his way. Besides, I heard Beacon's pay for their janitors is top-notch compared to other places. The place is friggin' huge, now that I think about it…"

"He does have that motorcycle, so he's gotta be at the very least decent at kicking ass and taking names," Taiyang mused. His teammates made sounds of agreement and left it at that. None of them were aware of how outlandish that line of logic was in another reality.

Summer rued how unfair the world was that someone managed to get themselves a kickass motorcycle and chose _not_ to divulge its luscious secrets to her.

…

"Are you all okay in the head? And I don't mean that in a worrying way."

Dante had to ask the would-be robbers after he had downed all of them. It had been anticlimactic how he took them down. He didn't even have to pull his guns out.

Their guns did his work for him; there had been a substantial amount of friendly fire. A good amount of acrobatics and a couple punches and kicks here and there also did the trick. Once the intruders were rounded up, Dante got himself a free lifetime bank account for his trouble – his check was promptly deposited – and excused himself while carrying every single one of the hoodlums on him. Now, the miserable pile of robbers and burglars were lined up in rows and on their knees as Dante paced in front of them in a dark and dank alleyway, all while holding one like a theatre prop.

"Tell me, what part of me screamed, _'Please rob me, I'm a defenseless burk with a lot of money who deserves misfortune'_? I'm really confused how I managed to give that kind of air. I was trying for the _'chill, good-natured, down-to-earth guy who is slightly naïve in regards to financials' _kind of mood_._ Wait, is _that_ why? How dare you take advantage of the naïve guy! He's only trying to make it through the month, ya bunch of sorry sods! I just wonder-"

"W-what the hell are you even saying-" Dante's hands tightened, silencing the particular mook in his grip.

"I just _wonder_ whose bright idea it was to rob a bank in the middle of the day!" He shook the poor victim in the air like a doll. His previous thought got derailed by the interruption and so, he latched onto the next thing, "And I just _wonder_ who thought it would be nice to even rob a bank in the first place!"

"I-it was our boss, actually." The dizzy goon managed to stutter out.

"…Your boss is an idiot," Dante dropped the misfit. "Either that, or a newbie. You don't aim towards a big name bank to kickstart a gang! You start with small businesses, like forming protection rackets, and work your way up while getting better equipment. Hell, maybe even open up a club to rake in quick bucks while you're at it!"

Dante would know. His early years of demon hunting was expensive, and while he could fence off spare parts of all the guns he worked to the point of them failing for spare cash, he still had to find a way to get fed. Thus, his routine visits to the local strip club for free breakfast and pizza.

"We had automatic submachine guns!" One of them protested. "And _hostages!"_

"And a fine bloody work you did, didn't you? Did you take into account that maybe a _Huntsman_ was nearby?" The bunch of robbers grew quiet at the question. Dante stopped caring about lecturing. Too much trouble like that. "And not to mention, you dick-nanas just had to put a lot of attention on me! I'll be surprised if I don't get chased by a news crew or by _Beacon's staff_ for this showcase of vigilante justice within the week. There are cameras everywhere, just so you know. What part of laying low do you mooks not understand?!"

"U-um… are we supposed to know you?" Dante glared at the one who asked the question. It was the same one he had manhandled by the nose literally. "S-sir?"

"No. And while we're at it, you lot will refer to me as "Santa Claus" when I address you. Or Mr. Claus. Not this "Sir" thing. I'm not a knight in shining armor."

None of them dared to ask what "Santa Claus" was supposed to mean. Dante was acutely aware of what the consequences of using his real name in the criminal underworld could do. The risk of identity fraud was real, so street names were a must for that line of work. Also, they had spotted the larger-than-normal handguns holstered on his person but that was neither here nor there. Good thing their survival instincts kicked in.

"Now that we have introductions out of the way-" All of them were now wise enough not to point out that they did not get to introduce themselves, "Let's take me to your boss so I can, ehh…"

"Dispose of him?" One of them dared to interject.

"I was going to say _"have a stern talk with him"_, but that works too." Dante did not care either way. "If he can't even come up with a solid plan that is also safe for his rep or his goons, he does not deserve to form a criminal gang in the first place. Now…" Dante dug into one of their pockets and fished out their Scroll, despite the weak protest. "Let's see… your head honcho is "Junior", huh? Weird name to use. Bet he's a teen too far out of his head."

"And 'Santa Claus' is better? What even is-"

"If you value your nipples, I suggest you be quiet, lackey."

* * *

**A/N: I now have 25% of a plan. Not much progress, but I do know how I want the first arc to end: with Dante spreading the word and joy of Christmas to the many people in the world of Remnant, preaching that love and peace can be found by all.**

…**with him becoming a Don along the way, but hey. You can't make scrambled eggs without cracking a few eggs along the way.**

**-DarkAkatsuk1****  
**_**P a treon. com (slash) DarkAkatsuk1**_


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